


We lived.

by oathkceper



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Missing Scene, Post Season 8 Episode 3, The Long Night, the battle of winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 04:02:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19715842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkceper/pseuds/oathkceper
Summary: “We lived. I told you we would.”———Tyrion, Jaime, Brienne, Podrick, Davos and Tormund rejoin once again after The Battle of Winterfell.





	We lived.

“We lived. I told you we would.”

Tyrion broke the silence, he felt he needed to with the suffocating smell of rotting flesh around them in the crisp Winterfell air reminding all of them that such a statement would not be true had they been out fighting for perhaps just a minute more. 

The Long Night had lived up to its name with striking precision, Tyrion’s eye lids fluttered with the exhaustion that lulled his mind to a sleepy state, the fire crackling in front of the five of them only worsening the effects the battle had on them. 

Tyrion had not expected his night to be as eventful as it had been, he had not anticipated the dangers that would creep up on all of the women and children in the crypts. He should have seen it coming, they were surrounded by dead corpses after all, and part of him blamed himself for not seeing the danger before it was too late and he was forced to listen to the agonised screams of women and children as they were slain. The majority of them had gotten out safely, including Sansa Stark whom he would have protected until his dying breath had they been exposed to the wights and not hidden away from sight. He was most glad that she was safe, but he knew he would be haunted for days. Weeks. Months, even.

“Don’t sound too pleased with yourself.” 

Tyrion watched as Jaime slumped back in the same chair he had sat on before the battle, his chest piece laying on the floor next to him as he tried to relax his stiffened back. Though his eyes were closed, his face held a pained expression whilst his aching muscles rippled beneath his sweat-slicked skin in retaliation from being moved. With only one hand, he had managed to last through the battle with only minimal injuries that could be fixed with a few bandages and healing creams. Although he had always had battle courage, Jaime was scared that night. More than once he found himself swarmed with waves of dead that threatened to suffocate him, and he owed his life to Brienne who had gone out of her way to keep him safe and from harm. 

Jaime had hugged Tyrion when he exited the crypts, the force of the embrace forcing shallow breaths from him as he held his brother in his short arms as fiercely as he could. Jaime had been caked in blood and sweat and dirt but Tyrion did not care for the smell or the feel of his blood-matted hair against his cheek, it only meant that Jaime was alive and real and that was all that really mattered to Tyrion. Neither the elder or younger Lannister had not expected to live, but that was a common assumption made between all of them before the battle, and it was clear the shock of what had happened that night had not hit Jaime at full force, like it had done Brienne. 

“We fought with honour.” 

Dragging Brienne inside and away from the dead bodies of soldiers she had commanded had been a battle in itself. Her sapphire eyes had been enlarged by the shock of the sight she had finally beheld when all the dead had fallen. Tyrion had noticed that Jaime recoiled from her when her wild gaze fell on him as he reached out an arm to comfort her, the blue of her eyes through forming tears resembling that of the wights to such accuracy that it frightened him. Her body had heaved enough breaths for all of those dead around her, so much so that Jaime, Tyrion and Pod had to drag her inside to prevent the panic already settling in her system from swarming her senses entirely. 

Tyrion did not know Ser Brienne as well as Jaime or Pod, but it was clear her grief for the soldiers she had lead into battle and failed to protect had a substantial effect on her, and it took more than just comforting words to soothe her. Jaime had hugged her tightly to his chest as she crumpled to the ground upon entering the same hall they had gathered in before, her unsteady legs unable to hold her any more. Pod had joined in too, Tyrion gave her a proud smile which she eventually returned softly, and she even laughed quietly when Tormund Giantsbane wrapped all of them up in his big, burly arms together to hold together the circle of comfort they had created for their upset Lady Knight. Ser Davos had been most amused when he found them all bundled together.

Now, though, she sat as tall and as proud as earlier on, the strain in her back causing her lip to twitch with pain every so often. Few tear tracks lined her skin that was paled in contrast to the warm tones of the red blood splattered in an ugly pattern across her face and the blooming purple bruise circling her left eye.

“I never doubted you, My Lord.” 

Young Podrick Payne had surprised all of them when he was seen still standing next to perhaps two of the best - if not the best - fighters in the Seven Kingdoms. He had been proud of himself, so proud that a disbelieving laugh had burst from his chest and broke the silence of Winterfell and the shock of the remaining soldiers. That was, of course, before he too remembered all of those who had fallen and would not rise again, all the dead he had slain, and after his realisation he had bowed his head and dropped his sword to the ground unceremoniously. 

He had escaped with a few sword slices to his side which had not bothered him until he finally stilled enough for the pain to spread through his nerves in unholy waves he was still currently trying to hide behind his reassuring smiles and occasional shifts of his slumped body against his chair. Brienne had commanded him to get help, but ever the loyal squire, he had insisted on staying by her side whilst she calmed down and to allow the people who had been severely injured to be first in getting help from the maesters. He had, though, assisted Ser Davos in cleaning the rather nasty gash on his arm with left over wine from earlier. 

“If it’s true, lad, you’d be the only one.” 

It had been a surprise to all of them to see Davos enter the room looking almost as fresh as he had leaving it hours ago, only the blood pouring from his arm and the sweat matting his hair and beard being signs to the chaos he had ensued that night. It was a miracle he had lived, he had almost no fighting experience to his name only a few years ago, and now he was the survivor of The Long Knight and had come out of it looking better than most. 

Though his arm had been badly split, Podrick had managed to help the flow of blood by pouring wine over the wound and bandaging it with some old cloth he had ripped from his own dirty tunic. Davos has hissed and snarled at the pain, but he was glad to be feeling anything at all after the onslaught of dead army soldiers he had taken on at one time. He had been driven by the revenge he seemed for everyone who had been unfortunate to fall into the clasps of the Night King. 

Davos was not seated like the rest of them, he had instead elected to stand next to the fire, soaking in the warmth he did not think he would feel ever again. At one point, he had even held a cup of wine in his hand, but that had quickly been taken by Tormund who sat beside him. 

“I trusted the little man, he reminds me of my mother.” 

Tormund had been one of the loudest on the field, all of Winterfell could hear his war cries and calls over the sounds of screaming wights. It had acted like a signal of hope to remaining soldiers who listened for his calls to ensure that they were not the only ones left standing, that they had a chance of winning. Over the night, the pile of bodies Tormund had stood on had grown to be almost too high for the wights to climb on, and this he had considered such an achievement that he had had a makeshift flag out of a thigh bone and a piece of ragged cloth to stick up at the mount. 

Unsurprisingly, he had been turning Winterfell upside down looking for his Lady Knight, his injured leg slowing him down as he ran around limping and crying out her name as if she was going to cry his back at him. Now, he simply stared at her as if she were going to drop dead at any moment, the already striking red of his hair glowing in the firelight in a way that made it seem as though he really was on fire, but the fierce gaze in his eyes held more of a roar than any fire could. 

All of them had lived despite the odds that had piled up against them, but none of them would walk from this night without scars bound in the mind and flesh. 

“Your mother?” Tyrion questioned, an air of offence surrounding his tone as he lifted his eyebrows. 

“Aye. She was a tiny woman. She had more breast than body.” 

Jaime snorted at that, allowed himself to give into the comical look on Tyrion’s face when he cracked his eyes open to look over at his brother despite the tense air.

“Take it as a compliment. At least he didn’t call you fat directly. I believe it is the wildling way of being subtle.” 

“Subtle? I’ve never heard a group of people so brutally honest.” Davos put in, his head shaking in amusement. 

“Subtlety isn’t something they practice.” Podrick agreed, the corner of his lips lifting in an amused smile as he, Davos and Tormund talked amongst themselves.

Tyrion grinned too, but much lazier than he had intended for it to be. There was something so tragically beautiful about laughter in a world such of their own. Hearing it was one thing, seeing it light up the same haunted faces that had been faced with certain death earlier was something that warmed his core. 

That, though, was not the only sight to warm him. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw his brother extend a hand towards Brienne, who’s head had ducked down to watch her fingers fiddle with each other with an intensity that could quiet easily sear through her flesh. Jaime laid his one hand over her two, firmly grasping them and waiting until she was looking up at him to smile at her as he squeezed her trembling fingers reassuringly. Brienne smiled back, not the same kind of smile that had lit up her face after her knighting, but the kind of smile that could mend even the most broken of souls. The kind of smile that was meant only for one person. 

He caught the movement of Jaime lifting up Brienne’s right hand to press it firmly to his lips, and then the glow of the flush in her cheeks, the shine in her sapphire eyes as they gazed at his brother in a way his sisters never had. Nobody else noticed, or seemed to let on that they did if they had. Not even Tormund, who was too busy recounting an old story to the two interested men to pay mind.

Tyrion too smiled, but he did not stare at them after that. They had fought bravely together for many years now, and if this moment was meant for anyone then it was meant for them, and them alone, not for prying eyes such as his.

Tyrion did not know how long they sat there for, chatting, laughing, smiling. Breathing. All he knew was that there was now not only light streaming through the small gaps in the bricks above them, but in the hopeful gazes of the soldiers in front of him. 

Podrick has taken to singing yet again a few times, Tormund too, who had joined in on one he knew and had not stopped since. Davos had danced, or at least attempted, and there had been an uproar of laughter when he tragically tripped himself up from all of them, even Brienne who had tried to keep her normally emotionless expression but failed miserably. Jaime had soon introduced a game too, and they had played until the early hours of the morning that they now faced together. 

They were all quiet now. Tormund had passed out in his seat, the only sound in the rooms being his loud snoring and Podrick’s gentle humming which flowed throughout the room in an disorientated melody. Jaime had taken Brienne’s hand again at one point, and they were now clasped together between them both where they sat next to each other. Davos was sat next to Podrick, fast asleep in a position Tyrion was sure would not do wonders for his neck when he awoke. 

“I should see Lady Sansa.” Brienne murmured, her well pronounced voice slurring with the exhaustion that fluttered her eye lashes. 

“Aye, but first you should sleep.” Jaime instructed, giving her hand one last squeeze before he released the embrace of their linked fingers. 

“I’ll sleep when i’m dead.” She retaliated, heaving up her armour clad body with the effort of what could have easily been a thousand men. Bowing at the waist to them both, a small, tired smile tilted at the corner of her dried lips. 

“Good morning, Ser Jaime. Lord Tyrion.” 

“Good morning, Ser Brienne.” Tyrion nodded back, waving in her direction as she turned lazily on her heel to walk out of the room, only to be caught by the grip of Jaime’s hand on her wrist. 

“Sleep soundly, Brienne.” He said softly. Brienne smiled at him, bowed her head, and resumed her exit out of the room. 

Following the sound of the door clicking shut, the two Lannister brothers looked at each other, and both of them chuckled. For different reasons, Tyrion was sure, but the sound vibrated in their chests still and steadily. 

“I’m proud of you, brother.” Tyrion spoke first, the emotion in his voice threatening to betray him entirely. 

“And I you, Tyrion. You lived.” 

“We all did. All thanks to me, no doubt.” 

Jaime laughed, shaking his head in amusement as he lifted his body from the chair, leaning forward to crack his stiff back. 

“No doubt about it.” He agreed, picking up his chest piece beside him and hobbling over to Tyrion’s chair, bending over and pressing a light kiss to the top of his head. “Good morning, brother. Get some rest.” 

“You too. Make sure you go to your own chambers, i’m certain that Ser Brienne’s and tempting-“ 

“Don’t be snide. It doesn’t suit you.” Jaime called behind him as he too exited the room, but not before raising up his middle finger to him. 

Tyrion hummed in amusement, his gaze flickering back to the fire in front of him that still roared despite everything that had occurred the previous night. It was a wonder really, that there was more life in that fireplace than there was outside of the brick walls he was currently encased in. But the fire had lived. He had lived. 

_They_ had lived, he thought.

And Tyrion smiled. 

“We lived.”


End file.
